Save Me (And I Will Save You)
By Myriddin
Two: Come-Hither and Retreat
Winterfell, 2003
Tears blurred her eyes, already swollen and sore from crying, as she hurried up the footpath leading to her family home. She rustled through her purse for her house-keys with trembling fingers, stumbling up the stairs but managing to keep her balance until she tripped over something long and solid lying on the porch.
Relief filled her when strong hands caught her just before she hit the porch. She balanced herself by shifting onto her knees and raised her head to thank her rescuer, only to stop in surprise as she met a familiar pair of gray eyes. "Jon? What are you doing here?"
Jon smiled at her sheepishly. "Waiting for Robb. He told me he'd be back soon, but that was an hour ago. I think I've been forgotten."
Despite herself, Sansa weakly giggled at his put-out expression. "Was he with Jeyne? He does that all the time when they're together."
"That explains it." He sat himself down from where he had been crouching, stretching out his long legs. His hand brushed over a worn paperback resting beside him, and Sansa realized he must have been sitting there and reading, patiently waiting for her brother, when she tripped over him. She was about to apologize when Jon's gaze on her seemed to sharpen and he leaned closer. "Sansa, have you been crying?"
"No, I just-"
"Sansa," he said firmly, brooking no argument as she sighed with defeat. All it took was his genuine, blatant concern and her defenses fell, her face crumbling. Jon wordlessly opened his arms and Sansa fell into them, clinging to him as he gathered her into a comforting embrace. She buried her face in the crook of her neck, as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Sansa, what happened, sweetheart?"
The endearment drew from her a weak smile as she burrowed closer. "Harry," she admitted softly, her voice so quiet Jon had to strain to make it out.
Jon immediately scowled at the mention of Harry Hardyng. Robb's distain for his sister's arse of a boyfriend was well-known, and Jon wholeheartedly shared the ill-feeling. "What did he say?"
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her, an ugly sound that had him tightening his arms around her. "It's not what he said, it's what he did. He slept with someone else. Oh gods, Jon. He cheated on me. He said he'd wait for me, and then he cheated on me."
"Oh, Sansa." As she trembled, he thought her cold, but another shudder followed, one after the other until her entire body was shaking with silent sobs, and her tears were soaking the fabric of his shirt.
Shocked to see her cry in such a way; he hesitated for just a moment before he began to rock her gently back and forth, as he whispered reassuringly into her ear, sounds and words that soon jumbled to make little sense. But she cared little for sensible things right then and there, and his voice was soothing, an anchor among the sea of pent-up pain.
She slowly calmed, and the tremors running through her body quieted as she drew back to meet his worried gaze. He took her in as well, her pale face, her red-rimmed eyes, and his jaw clenched with anger. How someone could be so callous and disregarding of a girl as incredible as Sansa?
His disgust was evident in his expression, and when his fist clenched with the entertaining of ramming his knuckles into Hardyng's smug face, Sansa laid her hand over his and coaxed his fingers to uncurl and relax. She winced sympathetically as she saw the bright red indents his nails had left in his palms. She was embarrassed as her eyes began to well up once again.
He looked back at her, and his anger instantly faded, replaced by a worried expression she thought looked incredibly adorable on his brooding face. "Sansa?"
She shook her head, sniffling as she wiped at the stray tears. "I'm alright. They're not sad tears, I swear. It's just...thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, Sansa." He frowned uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," she assured him, tilting her head up to press a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling against the light stubble of his chin. She breathed in the scent of him, a warm, masculine spice entirely Jon. He smiled down at him and that smile was so kind, so gentle toward her. He was so sweet…
Sansa bit her lip uncertainly for a moment, then moved her head to hesitantly press her lips to his. Jon immediately tensed at the contact, and after a long, drawn-out moment, as he failed to respond, her heart sank. She readied to pull away when he came to life against her, the firm line to his mouth softening and growing warmly respondent.
Sansa gave a soft sigh of satisfaction, twining her arms around his neck as he cupped the back of her head. He stroked the nape of her neck, tongue skimming the seam of her lips in a plea for entrance.
She opened to him and Jon Snow knew he had never tasted anything so perfectly sweet.
Jon teasingly caught her bottom lip between his teeth and Sansa moaned in reply, pressing herself all the more closer against him. Her husky, voiced satisfaction pulled at Jon's libido and he growled. The sound thrilled her, and she moved to straddle him, fingers tangling through his curls.
"Sansa!"
The pair broke apart so suddenly, Sansa was sent hurtling backward as she drew away from him. She dug her hands into Jon's thighs to catch her balance, consequently changing her momentum as she came crashing into him. Pressed flush against him, his hands clenched at her waist, Sansa's eyes widening as she felt the evidence of his groin, half-erect, pressing against her thigh.
Their eyes met and she fiercely blushed, hastily scrambling off her lap. Jon opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off as Sansa's younger brother, Bran, appeared in the doorway leading into the house, staring at them quizzically. "Sansa, didn't you hear me calling? Mom said to tell you that dinner's ready. Oh, and Jon…Robb called and said he's eating at Jeyne's house."
"Thank you, Bran," Sansa murmured as she struggled to her feet, Jon rising to his a little more gracefully. She avoided eye-contact, edging away from him, a gesture that earned a bewildered look from her brother. "Sansa? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Casting Jon a furtive glance, she pushed past them both and rushing into the house.
Jon's eyes followed her until she disappeared from sight, his attention only diverted as Bran nudged him in the arm. "She's acting weird, Jon."
Jon shrugged, casting one last look in the direction Sansa had gone, guilt blanketing his expression. "Girls are like that, kiddo." He sighed, tucking his book into his back-pocket and feeling around in one of the front ones for his keys. "Tell you what. I'm taking Arya up for a ride in the mountains this weekend. Maybe you can join us if it's alright with your mom."
"Maybe," Bran muttered dubiously. His mother wasn't particularly fond of Jon. Robb had commented once on it having something to do with Catelyn not liking their father, Brandon's, history with Jon's mother, but it made little sense to ten-year-old Bran. He liked Jon and liked spending time with him. He was jealous Arya got to see him so much, a given since they shared the same house.
Jon ruffled his hair fondly. "See you soon, monkey." Bran rolled his eyes at the nickname referencing his love of climbing, but his eyes lit up at Jon's words. "Be good, and maybe I'll put in a good word with Commander Mormont about getting you some time with the climbing wall the JROTC uses for training. Just between us, though."
"Just between us." Bran watched his honorary big brother's retreating back until he climbed into his truck and drove away. The boy shook his head confusedly and turned back to the house.
"Teenagers are so weird."
xx
"Hey."
Sprawled out on his bed, Jon looked up from his book at the sound of the familiar voice, spotting an awkwardly smiling Sansa standing in his doorway. He raised himself into a sitting position, setting down his novel as he motioned her into his bedroom. "Hey yourself."
"Arya let me in," she explained softly, tentatively meeting his eyes, biting her lip in a nervous gesture. Her cousin hadn't been happy to see her either. The preteen had glared at her fiercely when she opened the door, demanded she fixed whatever she'd done to Jon, and pushed past Sansa to take off on her bike.
Jon simply nodded, "Okay."
He watched her thoughtfully as she slowly wandered around the familiar room, perpetually neat and well-kept as always, an aspect of his personality she found rather fitting. A large bookcase took up most of the wall opposite of his bed, and she let her fingers trace over the cover bindings, musing over the familiar titles. "What are you reading?"
He held up the novel for her perusal. "Ah," she cocked her head in his direction, smiling softly, "More history on the ancient North? Did you find another one about your snow monsters?" She'd noticed him reading the books before when she came over to spend time with her aunt and uncle, and heard Robb tease him often of his interest in the far-off past.
"White Walkers," he corrected automatically.
"Snarks and grumkins," she teased, tentatively seating herself on the end of his bed.
Jon rolled his eyes, though he quickly grew serious. "Does this mean you've stopped avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you." Even to her own ears, her words sounded less than convincing. Jon's dubious expression told her he echoed her feeling. "Jon..."
"I'm sorry!" he blurted out, startling them both, and Jon recovered enough to look at her with guilty eyes. "I'm sorry, Sansa. That's what I've been trying to say for the last week."
Sansa's brow furrowed with confusion. "What?"
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. I shouldn't have taken it so far. It was inappropriate. I didn't mean to scare you. Please believe me." His loss of control that afternoon had been haunting him for days. Gods help him, he had practically mauled her, even gotten aroused enough for her to feel it. She was too young, fourteen to his seventeen, and far out of his league. What in the seven hells had he been thinking?
"Jon..." Sansa trailed off once more, unsure which of the dozen things she wanted to say should be stated. That he hadn't scared her, that he had felt wonderful. His kiss and touch had felt amazing, left her longing, and the only thing that scared her was how much she wanted him to kiss her again.
It was a strange thing to want and feel. She had known Jon most of her life. She had even met him before Robb and been responsible for introducing the two best friends, but they hadn't been particularly close since she was little. They were even family of sorts, her Uncle Ned having taken Jon in after his mother died and his uncle Benjen had been deployed overseas.
Things had changed a few months ago, the first time she saw Jon in his Night's Watch JROTC dress uniform. She had never before thought of quiet, brooding Jon in any way but platonically before, but he struck such an impressive, handsome figure that day she'd ended up nursing a shallow little crush on him since. The infatuation up until the day he held her as she cried had been superficial, but her feelings had only evolved since the day he'd shown her such tender care.
She couldn't seem to make herself say any of this. Instead, she hesitated, licking her lips before continuing. "You didn't scare me, Jon. I kissed you first."
His relief was nearly palpable and she realized just how much he had feared having done something to make her feel uncomfortable with him. "It still shouldn't have happened," he reiterated.
"You didn't want to?"
Her voice was soft, full of vulnerability and Jon sighed, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, "That's not the point. You just broke up with your boyfriend. Your first serious one. Jumping into things with me would just hurt you more."
She was still frowning and he was quick to reassure, cupping her face and tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Of course I wanted to kiss you, sweetheart. You're wonderful. You're perfect. Hardyng didn't deserve you. But don't you think I'm a little old for you?"
"You make it sound like you're ancient."
"I just might be. You never know, I just might be an ancient Northern warrior reborn." Sansa rolled her eyes and giggled as he dared to be playful, pressing a light kiss to her nose. She wrinkled it at his touch. "So what do you say? Are we still friends?"
As much as Sansa wanted to say no, that she wanted to pursue this strange, exciting new thing between them, fear (not of Jon, of course, but of the unknown) clogged her throat, and she nodded with reluctant acquiescence. "Friends."
xx
King's Landing, 2014
"So what about Daeron?"
His lips pursed as he looked away, his eyes distant in a way that prophesied his disconcertion. "His birthday's coming up and Aegon wants to take him out for the day. Something about uncle-nephew bonding. Bullshit if I ever heard it."
Jon's tone grew mocking and slightly embittered, taking on a flat quality that had her fighting to discern how to comfort him, "He's only got the gall to ask for something like that because the Lannisters are coming into town that weekend, so Myrcella's attention will be elsewhere. No reason for her to suspect her husband's sudden interest in his bastard brother's son."
The bitterness in his voice was sharp and poignant, reflected in the way gray eyes hardened with cold anger, jaw clenching with five years of suppressed temper and hurt.
"Jon…Jon, look at me." She touched a hand to his cheek, gently grasping his chin to turn his face toward her.
"He's my son. My son, Sansa. Why can't he let it be?"
"Jon…" his name seemed to be the only sound she could muster in response to an argument and resentment beaten into the ground by five years of the man before her playing pretend, wondering and waiting for his delicately crafted world to fall apart all over again. She sifted her fingers through his hair, letting her hand gently run across his nape, stroking the tension away from the column of his neck. He sighed, letting his head roll back against the couch cushion, fixing her with tired, world-weary eyes.
"…what does Margaery say…?"
"She's not fighting it. He's my blood, Sansa, I know that, but gods, the whole thing just turns my stomach. Every time I look in Myrcella's eyes, trusting me with the world…" he trailed off, his eyes closing as a strangled sound escaped him, half sob, half moan, and Sansa embraced him all that much tighter, Jon burying his face in her hair. She cradled his head, reveling in the strange paradox that even as his arms held her close, nestling her against his chest, it was her comforting him, stroking his hair as he let out a few more of those desperate, choked sounds; being the man he was, still not daring to cry.
Sansa rubbed his back, kissed his temple and held him tight as humanly possible, unable to say a thing, for it had all been said dozens of times before. Five years wasn't nearly enough to erase the damage done, by the affair that had completely rocked their collective worlds.
"She's not even going to be in town."
"Margaery? Why?"
"She's flying to Highgarden…something to do with Tyrell Designs."
Sansa winced at the mention of her previous employer, her hands moving downward to gently massage his shoulders. Jon shifted beneath her fingers to give her better access, tense muscles slowly relaxing under her touch. She sighed as she slowly worked out the kinks and knots stress had inflicted on him, pressing a light kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm sorry, Jon. I wish there was something I could say, or do…but…"
He shook his head, opening his eyes to gaze up at her, favoring her with a small smile. "You don't have to be sorry, Sansa. You're my safe haven, you know that? That's more than any man could ever ask for."
He brushed back her hair, leaning in to gently press his lips to hers, soft and sweet, pulling back as quickly as he'd initiated the moment he realized his blunder. They stared at each other for a moment, neither certain what to say, and Sansa shook her head as he opened his mouth to speak.
She kissed him once more, her mouth lingering against his as she felt him respond, his lips moving beneath hers as she twined her fingers through his hair, leaning further into him even as he sat up to draw her closer. His hands glided up her back, leaving pleasured shivers in the wake of his touch, cradling the back of her head as he took gentle, coaxing control of the kiss.
Eliciting a soft moan from her as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, he gently tilted her head, intent on deepening the contact when she slowly pulled back, breaking their lip lock, her eyes dark and guilty as they met his. "We really shouldn't have done that," she told him, her voice just barely carrying above a whisper.
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was selfish."
Sansa sighed. "Jon..."
"I know. Self-martyring again, right?"
"You're learning."
